Page 17 of Johnny Gun

“Here’s dressing for your salad.” Sydney walked into the room and put an assortment of salad dressings on the table.

Isolde followed her in, her stunning green eyes lowered.

Despite his effort to remain cool and distant, Johnny G almost dropped his fork. The woman he adored floated in on a cloud of light, or so it seemed to him. He swallowed as she placed bowls of grated cheese around the table. Her slender hands performing the simple activity riveted him to his seat.

“Get started on your salad, boys. Pasta’s coming soon.” Sydney diligently situated the bottles of dressing and cheese bowls on the table. But Isolde didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Her job finished, she walked out.

Seeing her leave twisted his stomach into knots. He stabbed a lettuce leaf from his plate, glanced up, and met Gomez’s narrowed eyes. Holding the biker’s stare, Johnny G stuffed the leaf into his mouth and smirked. He’d never cower in front of this asshole. Any shyness, weakness, or hesitation would raiseGomez’s alert level, and Johnny G never conceded a position of advantage.

As he chewed, he pondered. Did Gomez have a thing for Isolde? Not impossible. She was breathtaking. If so, that could be an unwelcome complication.

The answer came almost right away. Isolde and Sydney returned to the room. This time, they brought two plastic buckets full of beers for the crew. They dropped one at each end of the table and left.

Fussing with another leaf of lettuce, Johnny G watched Gomez’s behavior from beneath lowered eyelids. The blatant leer the biker gave Isolde made his skin crawl. Red-hot fury flamed in his chest. He could throw his fork at the guy or tear Gomez to tiny pieces with his bare hands and laugh as he stomped on what was left of the man. The urge to scramble over the table and squeeze the guy’s throat until he stopped breathing was irresistible.

How dare he look at his woman that way?

The bigger problem was the attitude of ownership.

This asshole believed Isolde was his.

Digging his fingernails into his palms under the table, Johnny released a slow and shuddering breath to restrain the impulse to kill. At least Gomez, totally wrapped up in Isolde’s presence, hadn’t noticed Johnny G’s anger.

This gave him a measure of relief. But when he brought his beer up to drink, he caught Axel’s warning expression. Bullet, sitting next to Axel, expressed a similar emotion. His brothers knew him from way back and were no fools. Obviously, they’d picked up on his actions when Blade had asked for volunteers. Johnny G’s immediate response had been a clear declaration of his emotional involvement with Deacon’s daughter.

Transparency was his enemy. Despite his best intentions, seeing Isolde had softened his resolve. Going forward, he had to be a rock, silent and faceless. He’d show nothing, not even to hisown crew, while he kept his senses on full alert and stayed aware of the smallest and most unimportant details. Because sitting in front of him was his in-house adversary, hiding his agenda under the guise of nice guy. Johnny G wouldn’t be surprised if Gomez was the type to betray his mother just to achieve his objective. Isolde Lennox appeared to be his aim, and if Gomez got wind of Johnny G’s feelings for Isolde…

No.

Couldn’t happen.

Johnny put the fork down. Leaning back, he resolved to ignore the love of his life as he pretended to eat a meal he no longer wanted. When the aromatic food came to the table and Sydney plated servings of gooey, cheesy pasta for everyone, he stared at his for long minutes.

“Excuse me, Johnny Gun. Is something the matter?” Deacon asked.

He shook his head. “No, why?”

“You haven’t touched your food,” Deacon replied. “I know the girls worked hard on this.”

“Come on, Deacon, he’s from the south,” Gomez commented with his mouth full. “The girls’ effort don’t mean shit to him.”

Fucking asshole had to add his two cents and send one more challenge his way. But Johnny Gun had nowhere to go. He felt all eyes on him.

“Right. Everyone’s an expert on me. Everyone has an opinion. Even those who don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

He shrugged at Gomez. Inserting his fork through several tubes of pasta, he chewed on the tasty food, but the small amount was more than he could handle. Swallowing with difficulty, he spoke. “Deacon, my compliments to Sydney and your girls. This is delicious.” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“What? Where you going?” Deacon asked.

“Don’t know. For a ride.”

Deacon said, “But?—”

“Let him go,” Axel said with a nod. “He gets that way sometimes.”

Isolde’s voice rang out. “Don’t worry. We’ll save you a plate.”

“Yes.” Smiling, Sydney added, “Come straight to the kitchen. Eat when you come back.”

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